


The Sun Also Rises

by libbywednesday



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged Up, Fear of Death, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kyman - Freeform, M/M, Medication, Plot Twist, Probably Slow to Update, Subject to Revisions, Terminal Illnesses, after high school, it says i "chose not to include archive warnings" for a reason lmao, medical setting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2018-11-07 03:03:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11049951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libbywednesday/pseuds/libbywednesday
Summary: Following a decline in his health, Kyle returns home from college, hospital bound. Sick and angry with the world, he sets out to prove that his life has meant something to somebody, as well as he can, the weaker he gets. When he starts giving up on himself, he gets a push from an unlikely friend that helps him keep fighting. After all, nobody knows fighting like Eric Cartman.





	1. So Long, Massachusetts

Kyle wasn't unused to hospitals. He had been in and out of them his whole life. The noxious scent of bleach and the steady beep of medical monitors was almost comforting to him now. Outside his room, he could hear the click of heels on tile and the occasional harsh ring of a telephone. Most of the time, though, it was quiet. And, even with the silence surrounding him in the dark and motionless room, sleep hadn't found him. Instead, he was plagued with a restlessness in his legs that he couldn't quite shake.

Before that day, he had never had a seizure before. It was February and, when he at started feeling sick, he had assumed it was just the stomach flu that was going around campus. But when he woke up on the floor to his panicked roommate calling an ambulance in the middle of the night, he figured things might be worse than he thought.

That was back in Massachusetts, though. Here, back home in Colorado, it was late, but not too late, and the packets of unsalted crackers on the tray beside him weren't looking particularly appetizing. Without hesitation, he slid into a pair of standard issue slippers and sat up. The IV stand next to his bed was clunky and cumbersome but, still, he took it with him, taking great care not to tug at the thin tubes that sprouted from his body like vines, leaking precious, life-giving fluids into his veins.

Upon standing, a wave of dizziness overcame him and he clutched the cold, stainless steel pole for support until the wooziness passed. Then, he was okay. “Okay” being a relative term. He was tired and weak and his body was sick and aching but, despite the pain burning within him, he felt alright.

Quickly and quietly, he shuffled down the long hall. It was nearly empty aside from an occupied custodian and a blonde-haired nurse tapping on a computer at her station. She looked up, briefly, locking eyes with Kyle for a moment as he passed by, raising her eyebrows, questioningly, before returning her gaze to the computer screen. Kyle let out a heavy breath and continued his walk.

At the end of the floor, near the elevators, there was a small and vacant waiting room. There were four hard-backed chairs separated by a tiny end table littered with outdated magazines and, on the far end of the room, there were two old-looking vending machines. Kyle stood back, leaning on his IV pole, deliberating the choices within the dimly-lit machine. His dietary restrictions were annoying. No salt. No sugar. Stay away from excess fluids. He let out a long breath through his nose.

“I don't think they have any Jewish candy in there.”

Kyle spun around on his heel at the startlingly familiar voice, almost slipping on the waxy, tile floor. He still held onto the IV stand for support. “Oh, Jesus Christ,” he exhaled. “Eric Fucking Cartman.”

Cartman grinned, crossing his arms in front of him and shifting his weight on his feet. “Long time, no see,” he said. He looked tired, Kyle noted, like he hadn't slept well in a few days, and his messy brown hair stuck out from beneath a black beanie.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be in California or something,” Kyle asked, still incredulous. He had made a point not to tell anyone he was back in South Park, let alone in the hospital. And, even then, he couldn't fathom why Cartman would have come to see him anyhow.

Cartman hesitated, briefly. “Uh, my mom,” he said. “She's in and out of here a lot so I've been helping her out.”

“Is she sick?”

Cartman shrugged. “Cancer. Y'know how it goes,” he said a little bleakly. “I bring her to her chemo appointments and stuff. We were on our way out but I'm actually up here for this vending machine because this one has peanut butter M&Ms.”

“Jeez... wow,” said Kyle, kneading his hands together, nervously. “I'm, uh, I'm sorry about your mom, Cartman. Is she doing okay?”

Cartman waved his hand and stepped past him, inserting a wrinkled dollar bill into the machine. “Yeah, she's okay. What are _you_ doing here, though?” he said, shooting him an accusatory glance. “Don't tell me you're dying.”

“Oh, you know. Just your typical kidney failure,” Kyle sighed. “Again.”

Cartman looked at him, suspiciously. “Kidney? The one that-”

“Uh huh,” Kyle cut him off, absently scratching at the back of his head. “It doesn't work anymore.”

Cartman leaned against the vending machine. “So, what? Are they gonna take it out?”

Kyle shook his head and shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe someday. Its hard to get a new one. For now they're just gonna keep me here so they can monitor me and I can get dialysis, like, every day or something,” Kyle explained. He, himself, wasn't quite sure what was going on. They were still running tests.

“Weak, dude,” said Cartman, tearing open the packet of candies with his teeth. “Well, aside from the, uh, kidney failure how's life? How was college, Mr. Harvard Law?”

“It's been good. My roommate's pretty alright. Classes are hard but, I mean, what did I really expect?” said Kyle.

“'Lotta rich kids?”

Kyle nodded. “Oh yeah. I don't really... um... Yeah, I don't really hang out with many of them.”

“Aw, Kyle, you're a loser,” Cartman said, feigning sympathy.

“Well, what about you?” Kyle asked, puffing his chest out, indignantly. “How was... whatever you were doing in Hollywood?”

“It wasn't Hollywood,” said Cartman. “Just LA. I'm trying to figure out how to get into the big business without going to one more goddamn lecture. I went to college for like two days and then dropped out. I was doing pretty good on my own, though. And then my mom got cancer and here I am.”

“I'm really sorry, dude,” Kyle said again. “That's gotta suck.”

“Ah, she's fiiiine,” said Cartman, rolling around a blue M&M between his fingers. “I bet kidney failure sucks, too, huh?”

Kyle blew a stray lock of dark scarlet hair out of his eyes. “Yeah, kinda.”

“Well,” Cartman said, cocking an eyebrow, “since I'm literally always here and I'm usually bored out of my mind, I'll take pity on you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I'll keep you company while you're here. Out of the goodness of my heart.”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “Gee, thanks,” he said, voice ripe with sarcasm, “I really appreciate that, Cartman.”

“I know. You're welcome,” Cartman said with a cheeky grin. “Anyhow, I gotta go drive my mom home. See ya, Jew,” he said, backing towards the elevators at the end of the hall.

“Wait,” Kyle said. “Could you do me a favor and not tell anybody I'm here? I don't wanna worry anybody and I don't... I don't want anyone's sympathy.”

Cartman studied his expression for a moment as he stood in the open doors of the elevator. “Yeah,” he said, slowly. “I can do that.”

Kyle nodded. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” said Cartman. He winked as the doors closed in front of him.

Kyle let out a long, tense breath and put the exchange at the top of his mental list of things he didn't expect. He also didn't expect to feel a knot form in his stomach, taking away his appetite altogether. He felt odd and almost embarrassed that Cartman had seen him in his fuzzy slippers and sweat pants with a wrinkly t-shirt and messy hair. He didn't understand it. He didn't want to.

Quicker than before, he found his way back to his room and shut the door behind him, wheeling his IV stand back into its regular spot. He laid back in bed, his stiff bones groaning as they settled into place, and stared at the tiled ceiling. Sleep surely wouldn't find him now that his mind was alive with thoughts.

He thought of Massachusetts and school and the dreadful idea of falling behind. He thought of his friends and his effort to keep them blissfully unaware of his condition. He thought about death and dying and fear and pain. But, most of all, he thought of Eric Cartman, in his gray hoodie and ripped jeans, leaning against that vending machine with that crooked, knowing grin he always had. And, maybe, at the same time, Eric Cartman was thinking about him and his unkempt hair and tired eyes.

Kyle pressed his thumb down on the small button dangling from his IV and a strong pain medicine flooded his capillaries, dowsing those thoughts in sweet cotton. With a foggy mind and dry mouth, his eyes grew heavy, and sleep finally came.

 


	2. Cold Hands

In the morning, the light that filtered in, through the half-open blinds, cast across the bed in even lines. The sun was out now but the forecast predicted snow flurries soon. Being able to lay in bed and read instead of trudging through the bitter cold was one of the few things Kyle was thankful for. The hospital food was not one of them.

A nurse had just come to take his tray from breakfast. He hadn't eaten much, poked at some rubbery scrambled eggs and nibbled on some whole wheat toast. His appetite was lacking. He blamed his shitty pancreas.

He had just begun reading a paperback novel. At first, he had debated turning on the television that was mounted on the wall across from his bed but he decided that he would rather stare at the blank, white wall than watch daytime programming all morning. Luckily, he had his book so he didn't have to partake in either.

He, unfortunately, had plans for later in the day, to meet with his doctors and discuss preparation for hemodialysis. He wasn't looking forward to having all the blood in his body siphoned out through tubes and filtered through a large machine every other day but, if it kept him alive, he would make due with it. Until then, though, he had decided he would read.

He had just turned the page to chapter three when his phone buzzed next to him. It was a text from Cartman. It had been a while since they had texted back and forth. According to his phone, the last time had been in the previous August, right before school started.

The message was brief: _“whats ur room number”_

Kyle responded with the answer: _“402 why?”_

Cartman didn't reply. Instead, a few minutes later, there was a heavy-handed knock at the door and, not waiting for Kyle to answer, Cartman let himself in. “Hey, Jew. What's up?”

Kyle narrowed his eyes at him, sitting upright, propping himself up on some pillows. “The fuck are you doing here?”

Cartman sat himself down in a chair across from Kyle's bed. “Keeping my promises,” he said, kicking his feet up on the nightstand. “So, how are things?”

Kyle carefully closed his book and put it down beside himself. “Same as they were last night,” he said, glaring at him, half-lidded. “Don't you have somewhere else to be?”

“No,” said Cartman.

“Where's your mom?”

Cartman waved his hand, dismissively. “She has a biopsy today so I'm here to bother you for a couple a' hours.”

Kyle sighed. “Great,” he said through his teeth.

“Y'know,” said Cartman, crossing his arms over his lap, “this is just like old times.”

Kyle snorted through his nose. “Yeah, sure. Except with the looming possibility of death.”

“Are you kidding? We were always almost dying,” said Cartman. “Remember that time we both jumped off our roofs?”

Kyle snickered. “Yeah, and everyone thought we got psychic powers from the head trauma.”

Cartman let out a loud bark of a laugh. “Good times.”

“Bad times. Really bad times,” Kyle said, shaking his head, still laughing.

“Hey,” Cartman said, bringing his palm down on the bed sheet with a firm thud, “lets go do something,” he suggested.

Kyle raised his eyebrows. “What's there to do? This place is boring as hell, frankly,” he said, absentmindedly chewing on his thumbnail.

“Well,” Cartman thought, “we could get food.”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “Of course you want to get food,” he said. “I don't really have much of an appetite, though.”

“Hmm,” said Cartman. “I guess not. With the whole 'kidney failure' thing and all. They probably have you on some pretty serious painkillers too, huh? What are you taking? Codeine? Demerol?”

Kyle blinked.

“I-I'm not a junkie or anything!” Cartman stammered, cheeks flushing pink. “I just have to manage my mom's meds since I don't trust her with them,” he explained.

“Oh,” said Kyle. “But, I mean, yeah. I guess they make me feel sick sometimes. What kind of meds is your mom on?”

Cartman shook his head. “Too many to count, really.”

“What kind of cancer does she have?”

Cartman thumped at his chest. “The boob kind.” He leaned forward, crossing his arms on the bed and resting his head on them. “Enough hospital talk, lets _do_ something!”

Kyle groaned and sunk back down into the pillows. “Cartman, I'm _sick,”_ he said.

“I'm getting sick of your attitude,” Cartman chirped.

“You know, you can leave any time you want to,” said Kyle.

Cartman frowned. “Kyle, I'm beginning to suspect you don't _appreciate_ my company.”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “Gee, I wonder what would ever give you _that_ impression...”

Cartman snorted. “You're lucky, Kyle. Lots of people would love to be hanging out with me right now.”

 _“Bitch, where?”_ Kyle mumbled under his breath.

“Wait,” said Cartman, reaching out and lightly grabbing Kyle's arm. His fingers were like ice and Kyle instantly recoiled.

“Dude, your hands are freezing.”

Cartman shrugged and stuffed his hands into his armpits. “Meh. I have bad circulation,” he said. “Anyhow, I know what we can do. I'll be right back.” He stood and dashed out the door.

Kyle watched, hesitantly, and after a few seconds had passed, tentatively rose. He shuffled to the door and ran his hand along the frame, jiggling the doorknob, checking for a lock, not really even because he wasn't curious about Cartman's idea, but because it would be funny. Fairly, there wasn't one and Kyle returned to his bed.

Soon, Cartman returned, toting a plastic basket. “They let you rent these out from the children's ward,” he said, placing the basket down next to Kyle's lap.

“Dude,” said Kyle, “sweet!”

It was a fairly new Xbox, two controllers, and a small assortment of games.

Kyle took one of the controllers, absently picking at the PROPERTY OF GREATER DENVER HOSPITAL SYSTEMS sticker with his thumbnail. “What kind of games do they have?” he asked.

Cartman shrugged. “A bunch of stuff. You check 'em out like a library. They have some WiiUs so we could play Smash but somebody's got them checked out already,” he said. “Probably some dumb kid with leukemia.” He lifted the console out of the basket and fiddled with the wires. “The last time my mom was in here for a few days, I played like forty hours of Overwatch.”

“I bet you main Roadhog,” said Kyle.

Cartman squinted at him. “Yeah, well, I bet you main Mercy.”

Kyle frowned at how right he was.

A few hours and several rounds of Halo later, with Cartman falling asleep in the plastic-backed chair, Kyle set the controller down in his lap. “I have shit to do today.”

Cartman rolled his eyes. “Like _what?”_ he groaned.

“Surgical consultation,” Kyle said, putting air quotes around the phrase.

“Bullshit,” said Cartman. “For what?”

“For an arteriovenous fistula and a venous catheter,” said Kyle.

Cartman raised an eyebrow. “A what?”

Kyle sighed tiredly. “I need to have dialysis so they have to make a thicker vein by connecting two of them in my arm,” he explained, running two fingers along his inner forearm, tracing the blue vessels beneath his skin. “But,” he continued, “that takes time to heal, and I need dialysis now, so they're putting a tube in my chest, into a bigger artery, until the other vein is ready.”

“Sounds painful,” said Cartman. “You're gonna get some sick body mods tho.”

Kyle shrugged. “It's whatever. You've gotta go, though. I should shower and stuff.”

Cartman huffed. “Boo, you whore.” He struggled to his feet and then gathered the game console and controllers. “I'm taking this with me.”

“Go ahead,” said Kyle, stretching, his shirt riding up over his stomach, exposing the little, round patch on the flat skin near his navel.

“What's that?” asked Cartman, gesturing to the circular spot.

“This?” Kyle said, looking down. He pulled a small, electronic device connected to the patch by a thin tube from his pants elastic. “My insulin pump. I've had it since, like, the eighth grade. You never noticed it before?”

“You think I paid attention to you in the eighth grade?” Cartman asked. “What does it do?”

Kyle silently called bullshit but shrugged it off. “It gives me insulin cuz I've got diabetes, moron,” he said. “This way I don't have to stab myself with a needle a hundred times a day. Why are you so interested in my medical history all of a sudden?”

“I'm _not,”_ Cartman stammered, rising to his own defense. “Have fun jerking off with your surgery arm.”

Kyle snorted a laugh and Cartman cracked a sideways grin. “Later, Jew.”

“See ya, Fatass.”

 


	3. California

Cartman didn't come by to visit for a few days and, despite himself, Kyle found himself to be very lonely. It was revolting but Cartman's company was better than no one's.

His left arm was bandaged and sore from where his veins had been grafted together and there was an uncomfortable, itchy sensation near his collarbone where thin tubing snaked underneath his skin and into a large artery deep within his chest.

Today, he was finally receiving his first hemodialysis treatment. It wasn't necessarily unpleasant but it was isolating. Despite the overwhelming size of the hospital, the nephrology wing was surprisingly empty and Kyle was placed in a small, white room with a single dialysis machine. He wished there was, at least, a window.

Once he was hooked up to the machine by a nurse, Kyle watched the blood jet out through one branch of the line in his chest and then back into his body through the other. He could feel a buzzing sensation called a “thrill” where the catheter met his skin. It wasn't uncomfortable but it was a little bit annoying and definitely something he would have to get used to.

He was on the schedule for three four-hour sessions a week which, to him, seemed like an awful lot. He figured, though, he could keep up with some studying for school or something while he was having his treatments. He sat back and took advantage of the silence to unzip the backpack he brought with him and take out his Ethics textbook. He read for about half an hour before his eyes began to grow drowsy and he wondered if he would spend all this time napping, instead.

He closed his eyes, letting his mind drift from schoolwork and invasive medical procedures to the idea of being anywhere but in the hospital. However, he was jostled back to reality by a quick click of the door and a heavy thud in the chair next to him.

Kyle opened his eyes and immediately scowled at Cartman, who had taken the empty seat beside him. “How did you even know I was going to be in here?”

“I asked a nurse,” said Cartman. “They are surprisingly willing to give out information in this place.”

Kyle's top lip curled in disgust. “Why are you even here?”

“Just cuz," Cartman said, leaning on the arm of the chair.

Kyle huffed and slumped in his seat. "Well, fine."

"So what's this for?" Cartman asked, tugging lightly at the tubes that stuck out of Kyle's forearm.

"Don't touch that, moron!" Kyle hissed, pulling away. He rubbed at his sore skin. "My kidneys don't work so they have to take all my blood out, take the bad stuff out, and then put it back in. It's like bypass for kidneys."

"Huh," said Cartman, "That's what kidneys do?"

"Yeah," said Kyle, "they're filters."

Cartman scoffed. "You stole mine so my blood probably sucks and it's all your fault."

"A small price to pay for my companionship, yeah?"

Cartman rolled his eyes. "I _guess,_ " he said. He paused. "You know, when I was in LA, I knew a guy who had a heart transplant and they didn't even take his old heart out. They just threw the new one in there too so he had two whole hearts."

"That's bullshit," said Kyle. "I think they can do that with kidneys, actually, but there's no way they'd leave an old dead heart in there."

"Its true."

"It's not true."

"LA people are just _different_ than Colorado people. I knew a contortionist prostitute."

Kyle raised his eyebrows. "Oh yeah? What did you even _do_ in California?"

Cartman hesitated. "That's not something you need to know."

"What do you mean I don't need to know? You're watching me have an invasive medical procedure and you can't even tell me what you did in LA?" asked Kyle. He was already suspecting Cartman's stories to be outlandish and incredibly unbelievable but he was hungry for entertainment and he still had three hours of treatment left.

"Well... I went to school for a couple weeks. Got bored. Dropped out. Lived out of my truck for a while. Basically became a busker-"

"A what?"

Cartman waved his hand, dismissively. "A street performer. Whatever."

Kyle snorted.

"Anyhow," Cartman said, "I started auditioning for movies and stuff. I was gonna be big, Kyle, just so you know."

Kyle didn't buy any of it. Not for any reason in particular, he just knew Cartman and knew to assume any stories he told were heavily embellished. "Yeah, sure, Cartman," he said, resting on the elbow of his good arm.

"I'm _serious,"_ Cartman insisted. "I was gonna win an Oscar someday. I'm a great actor."

He wasn't wrong. He was a great actor. And what is acting but glorified lying? Eric Cartman was an excellent liar.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for such a long break ending with such a short and lackluster chapter but I really just wanted to get something out there as soon as I could! 
> 
> A lot has been going on over the past few months that has been hindering my usual writing pace including writer's block and the fact that I had a baby! I have the rest of this story bullet point summarized in my pocket notebook. Hopefully, I'll be able to update again soon! Thanks for reading and for all the support I get from you guys!


End file.
